


From Stone, We Sculpt Symmetry

by OnyourRadar



Category: SKAM (France)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe, Artist Trope, Because why nottt, Boy won't be pushed around by our boy Eliott, But Dealt with differently, Eliott is obsessed., Eliott's an Artist, Everthing will be okay.....promise?, HE is the MUSE, If I can allow myself to show that side to you all, Lewdness, Lucas doesn't take it lying down., Lucas is naked a lot, Lucas models nude, Lucille is minimally involved, M/M, Mental Illness, Sorry boys and girls I am taking it there, Stands his ground, Will be mature, Will probs contain that sexy thing, eroticism, talking about art, university fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2020-09-27 15:51:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20410345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyourRadar/pseuds/OnyourRadar
Summary: Like pencil on paper, Eliott's fingers trace the lines of the body in front of him. Except here, there are not barriers. Distance nonexistent. He wonders if he were to simply love with his fingers would Lucas be satisfied?--or--Eliott is an artist who has recently lost his muse. But he quickly finds it again when he meets the new model for his art class.





	1. A box is where I've got you

**Are you coming?**

Eliott pressed send before he could talk himself out of it. He slams the metal locker door harder than intended but the resounding clank sends a jolt through his spine. His fingers curl on the metal, forehead leaning against it. He squeezes the phone tightly in his other hand, breathing in deeply. 

When he feels the buzzing Eliott is quick to read the message. 

**We both know that wouldn’t be a good idea. So no, I won’t be coming. **

Eliott grits his teeth, brows furrowed as he feels anger course through his veins blinding his vision. He remains leaning on the locker as his thumbs make quick on the lie that he types out next. 

**I need you**

He doesn’t quite mean that. He doesn’t need Lucille. Sure he cares for her, as a friend now more than anything, but nothing more, not like he used to. What he needs, what he wants, the thing he is chasing is the _inspiration_ that she brings. Brought. Eliott can’t deny that the fights that have climbed in the numbers--one of which culminated to the point of their relationship ending with more than harsh words being thrown around--were partially caused by the countless times he finds himself staring at a blank canvas or sketchpad as Lucille holds her pose, anxious from his lack of movement. His lack of creating. 

But he finds it hard to admit. To accept the fact that he can’t seem to put pen to paper. Not the way that he used to when they first met a couple of years ago. He finds himself standing in front of a road block, staring unable to see and unable to think. The first time it happened, Eliott recalls the anger that splashed across her sculpted face as Lucille scrambled to find her clothing. 

_“Do you think this some kind of fucking joke?”_ Her movements harsh as she tugged on a shirt, breast bouncing when her arms jerked. She stood and jumped into sweats that quickly hid her body from view. _"It's been over a fucking hour, Eliott. Either draw something or stop wasting my time." _

The way he had swiped at his easel, knocking everything over caused pause in her movements that day. Those glowing green eyes of hers, the wells of which Eliott had seen a myriad of color in on so many occasions, growing wide at his show of anger. 

_"You know it's not that easy! I can't just draw when you tell me too!"_ He had shouted, voice echoing in the large yet empty studio. The tall windows lining the far wall that usually brought light during the day were darkened, reflecting the night. 

It had been late, 12 am. Not having been in the best state of mind for a while Lucille had proposed an impromptu session hoping to loosen him up and show him things would be okay. He appreciated the gesture but found little satisfaction with himself. If anything, he'd fallen deeper into a downward spiral after that.

_"Oh spare me your starving artist routine! If you want to draw someone else then just fucking say so."_

He approached her quickly, his stride urgent, his anger pulsing as he gripped her by the upper arm, teeth clenched. _"How could you say that! A fucking routine? You of all people should know…"_

He felt the frustration build little pinpricks of wetness at the corner of his eyes and he was quick to release her and dig the heels of his palm into his face, hoping the pressure would make the unbearable sensation of breaking down go away.

It didn't.

Something in his actions and tone had flipped a switch in Lucille that night and she quickly tried to back peddle, realizing her mistake. 

_"Eliott...no I k-know. I didn't mea--"_

_"Just...don't Lucille. We need to stop." _Permanently. He asks her to leave.

And she did. 

Eliott isn't stupid. He knew they couldn't recover from that. And they never did. Even on his best days he was always chasing, always trying to recapture what they had lost. 

When he receives an answer to his text Eliott is resigned, biting the corner of his bottom lip. His sapphire eyes lit from the artificial light of his phone. 

**Don't lie to me like that I'll see you again but not now. **

He doesn't respond. Eliott knows he won't ask her again. No matter how low he gets. 

He bends and picks up his bag from the floor, slinging it over one shoulder. His fingers grip the straps like a lifeline as he stuffs his phone in the pocket of his tan jacket and not for the first time since he woke up, Eliott wishes he had stayed home. 

But he didn't want to give into those thoughts not since feeling the slightest glimmer of _something_ for the first time in days. 

Eliott's free hand moves up to his face, fingers tapping away on his lips in a nervous gesture as he makes his way to the studio. He has 5 minutes before class starts so he makes quick strides down the main hall of the Arts Building. 

His eyes are locked ahead where normally Eliott would take his time, check out the rotating art from his classmates and the younger years. Today he walks without seeing eyes unblinking.

When he arrives Eliott finds his spot in the room and drops his bag on the floor. His easel is set up from the night before the blank page of his sketch pad staring back at him, the brightness mocking him for the emptiness of it all. He ignores his classmates who are setting up just the same, some chatting quietly others lost in the motion. 

"Today we continue our series of learning the contours of the body. To draw and draw and draw until we've rendered the beauty of it all in its truest form. As always, if you cannot draw with your pencils then you must draw with your eyes."

Eliott hears the words and his eyes rake over the form of his professor, standing tall and imposing at the front of the room. Professor Doles always commands their eyes and ears when she speaks despite her entire image that emits an air of relaxed energy. 

Dressed in her loose overalls--straps tied at the shoulders and large pant legs rolled up past her ankles-- she looks fragile but Eliott has always taken note of the quiet thrum of strength traced out in the lines of her arms and legs. Tight and taut, she stands sturdy and worthy of respect that Eliott doesn't easily hand out.

"The focus for our upcoming weeks is Eroticism. I know that all of you came in already having read the assigned reading on Antonio Canova and studied his sculptures thoroughly."  
Professor Doles says all this with a smile as her eyes scanned the faces of his classmates. Most looking down while setting up. Their nervous chuckles-- because the word required somehow translates to suggestion whenever they encounter it-- betraying the truth. 

"You'll draw on that knowledge and what you've gathered from your studies to improve your depiction of the human body."

Eliott doesn't bother trying to hide the fact that he didn't do the reading but had in fact found time to visit the exhibit. He catches her eyes but his smile is almost nowhere to be seen. Still, she grins at him. She walks until she stands at the center of the studio where the stage, a small raised platform, was hidden by the heavy curtains that were suspended from the ceilings, dark and velvet in their makeup.

"Our models for the semester have been given their assignments. Erotic differs from person to to person. They've been asked to choose a pose that represents exactly that. Erotic. You'll have an hour as always."

Eliott runs his fingers methodically against his bottom lip. He feels the familiar pulse of anxiety travel the length of his body, anticipation coloring him sick. 

He wants to see behind the curtain but fears that the worst will happen where he'd feel nothing for what he sees. 

Because that would be exactly what he needs.

"You may choose any medium to finish your final but for now the pencil is your best friend. As always we are humans but we are also adults, I expect all of you to handle this with dignity and respect."

With her whole body, Professor Doles draws the curtain up until the stage is revealed to the surrounding students. 

There are three. Three bodies. Three models set in various poses. 

Three figures exuding confidence and beauty but only one Eliott focuses in on. He cares little for the blonde who sits with the length of his legs on display. His arms used to carry his weight as he leans back head tipped and blue eyes openly staring at the ceiling. He has glasses dangling from his mouth, gripped between a set of pearly whites. 

Nor does he pay much attention to the petite brunette whose body is curled on its side, waist dipping low, accentuating the curve of her hips and ass. 

Beautiful but not erotic. 

Erotic was the arched back, feet firmly planted and flat on the stage. A display of milky white skin of a flat stomach with just the barest dusting of hair trailing and disappearing beneath a thin, silk, sheet that was a bright splash of red. His eyes traveled farther down, making out the slight contour of a member hidden and yet displayed by the tight embrace of that sheet. Eliott's throat dries up at the sight of the color that stands in stark contrast against the smooth skin. He wants to tear it away to reveal the entirety of his body. 

Eliott can see how most of the small, brunette male's weight rest on his shoulders. His head hangs slightly off the raised stage, and Eliott traces the stiff cords that run the length of a stretched out neck, his wild hair brushing the floor. One arm is bent, reaching back, the point of his elbow a sharp line that Eliott traces with his gaze. 

Arched nose with a slight button tip. 

Lips a rosey full. Pointed and shapely. Parted slightly. 

His eyes. Closed.

Eliott feels a need to see those eyes opened. He wants to know the color and believes he might only ever get the full effect if he was the subject that this model was staring at with hooded eyes. A scrutiny saved only for the bedroom. A look to pair with an erotic pose that a lover would take in. The sole person that is allowed to eat up the sight and witness it first hand. 

Eliott does his best to shake the feeling of jealousy. That he was not the only one staring at this figure laid out in front of the class for 15 other students to see.

"Are you drawing with your eyes today, Mr. Demaury? Again?"

The voice startles him and Eliott looks away and towards Professor Doles. Her sharp eyes are trained on his pad instead of him. 

"Aa ...something like that."

"It seems you've been doing that quite a bit lately, Mr. Demaury."

"Yes, well...I've been finding it difficult to create the last couple of weeks." Eliott watches her head tilt and because he has come to know her so well he knows it is a movement of contemplation. Knowing this does little to ease his apprehension. She gently pats at his shoulders.

"Let me know what I can do." She makes a move to walk away but Eliott stops her.

"Professor…"

She turns to look at him expectantly. 

"Will you ask him to open his eyes. I just think that--" she holds up a hand as if to say 'say no more'.

She makes her way over and leans down the slightest, her wiry frame hovering over the model's. Eliott can't hear her whispering but not moments later he watches as those lids snap open to reveal biting blue eyes that lock onto him. Perhaps Eliott imagines it, sees it in his mind but the lips part in a silent gasp and his chest moves as he breathes before he freezes again. Body frozen and ready to be drawn. Every line and dip that shapes his body is ready for Eliott to capture down on paper. 

Eliott doesn’t disappoint. He sketches him like a photograph. As if every detail mattered and his refusal to leave out even the smallest wisp of hair, made translucent by the light, was an homage to the beauty in front of him. If ever this model of his, this sight of pure exquisite eroticism was to disappear, Eliott would have his memory and this drawing to relive the moment. The thought of never being able to allow this boy’s image to manifest itself on paper again caused Eliott to react in a slight panic. His fingers shaking the only outward sign. He can’t let that happen. 

So he plots.


	2. How you chip away at me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tall in his stature, relaxed in his stance he looked like a model himself. Angles of impossibleness made up the planes of his face and Lucas thought, Eliott had a face that he could easily fall in love with and never forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our boys being thirsty. Just a bunch of flirting. But I promise there is a bit of a plot with this story. And if there isn't....who cares.

“Five minutes”

55 minutes of what appears to be excruciating pressure that would make most everybody break was executed with ease. A light sheen of sweat breaks out and covers Lucas’ body. The burn in his hip, his bent arm. 

If all feels good. He welcomes the tension and counts down in his head the moment he can move. 

Four minutes. 

Lucas’ eyes are open, focused and unfocused all at once. He’s looking but he doesn’t quite see since he is perfectly lost in his own empty thoughts. The happenings all around him, the dotting of pencils, paint knives scraping his image into a faux forever. 

Three minutes. 

He doesn't want to see any of them. Any rendition of the hard or soft lines of his body. Lucas would be satisfied with never knowing what he looks like on canvas, a simple representation of what he looks like in the eyes of these people. 

Two minutes. 

He feels his silk covering slipping just the slightest and fights the urge to pull it back. His fingers itch to move. 

"One minute"

Lucas breathes in deep at the sound of professor Doles voice. The sudden noise making him want to jump out of his skin. Only his discipline keeps him from shifting. 

"Ten more minutes, please?"

Lucas almost moves his eyes to stare directly at the boy with the wild hair and those penetrating eyes. There's a desperation in the voice that Lucas wasn't prepared for. 

"You know the rules Eliott. Their bodies are our muse for an hour and an hour only." She lets out a sigh. "Time. Eliott, take a picture to complete it. Ten turns into twenty and twenty can turn into thirty. It's in our nature to be unfair."

Lucas feels the other two models shifts and watches intently as the students start to pack up. He holds his pose still. Professor Doles pants come into his peripheral and hears her voice, gentle when speaking to him. 

"Lucas," it's a whisper. "You can move now."

He parts his lips that feel parched. "Ten more minutes." Her sigh is not of disappointment but one that spells out resignation. He doesn’t know why he does it, perhaps he’s a glutton for pain. Perhaps there was something in that request that he felt was directed at him and him alone. But Lucas liked it. 

"Ten more minutes with this one model, if you were drawing him. Count your lucky stars." 

Her voice rings in the nearly empty room. Lucas sees how some students continue to stare but they were no longer tied down by the restrictions of class time anymore and so were not required to stay. Those students lingered for a minute, drawing some extra lines on their canvas, their large and small sketch pads. Then left. 

In the span of two minutes there was Lucas and that boy. Professor Dole having disappeared to her office after checking with the last student, making sure ten minutes remained ten minutes. 

Before going she stood there for a full minute, lips pursed and before she turned she let out a satisfied hum. 

"True erotica. The curves you've captured; a beauty that is beyond our century Eliott. I'm glad your muse is back." She pats him twice on the shoulder, gentle as to not disrupt his work and leaves.

Lucas feels the beads of sweat drip into his hairline and keeps counting down in his head. He’s held his positions for longer than an hour and ten minutes he tells himself. 

_Yes but never anything so strenuous. _

He gives in for a moment and closes his eyes. It's not a moment later that he hears the voice again. 

“Please, please keep them open. Just for a bit more. I’m almost done.” 

Lucas feels the urge to tell him to shut up and draw. Because the more he talks the more time he wastes. Instead, he opens his eyes, refocusing his gaze so that it is lined up with the boy who is trying so hard to picture him on paper. 

Lucas watches the way the other bites harshly, a tug of pearly white teeth, on his lips as his fingers dance on the page. Those fierce eyes mapping him out. Lucas feels breathless and finds himself unintentionally arching his back just the slightest. If Eliott notices he says nothing. From the way he scowls for a moment and the dive of his brows, Lucas concludes that he does in fact, notice. 

Good. Notice me, Lucas thinks. 

He deserves the attention. This time when the voice tells him he can move, it's deeper, jump starts him from his reverie, and just a bit farther away. Lucas slumps down and lets out a quiet moan as his back touches the cool surface of the platform. He holds up his arms rolled his wrists and works a small kink out of his neck. Lucas gently massages his joints with deft fingers, completely unaware of the effects he has on Eliott who stands by breathing in slowly at the sight of him stretching. 

“Do you want to see?” 

The question throws him off kilter. Throws him for a loop and he turns quickly, blue eyes searching the other and the motive hidden in his cosmic gaze. Lucas really looks at him this time. 

Tall in his stature, relaxed in his stance he looked like a model himself. Angles of impossibleness made up the planes of his face and Lucas thought, Eliott had a face that he could easily fall in love with and never forget. Those eyes of his were deadly in they way they shine, an unmarked color Lucas couldn’t place. Covered in a jacket that hid what Lucas could imagine was a wiry and built frame, he might’ve been more apt to say yes if Eliott had asked if he wanted to fuck. 

But he didn’t. And Lucas doesn’t like looking at himself. 

“Nah I’m good.” He turns from Eliott, stands up knowing he was completely naked as the day he was born but he’s spent far too much time being self-conscious in his early years to care now. He walks over to one of the robes hanging on a hook at the front of the room. He relishes at the warmth that envelopes him and makes a move to gather his clothing when his voice rings out again, stopping him. 

When Lucas turns he sees the other boy bracing himself on his easel, eyes predatorial and glued to Lucas. Subconsciously, Lucas licks his lips and feels satisfaction tingle as those eyes trace his movements. 

"Will you be back?" 

Yes. Lucas shrugs. 

"Maybe. Depends."

"Mm. On what?"

Lucas smiles at him. He drops his clothing back down on the ground and holds the robe closed with his nimble fingers. His pace over to the other is slow and leveled. Planned out. When he's close but not close enough to touch Lucas sits down on one of the wooden side tables that is littered with pencils and pens and brushes of all sorts. He crosses his legs and uses one hand to balance on the surface of the table. He looks up through his lashes a smirk resting on his pointed lips. 

"Depends on who is asking and why?" His voice is barely a whisper that comes out to play. His bare foot bops slightly playing in the stream of light that filters in through the windows of the studio. His leg casts a long shadow between Eliott and him. 

Lucas enjoys the game they are playing and from the smirk and relaxed movement of the other, he isn't the only one. Lucas watches as Eliott straightens just the slightest and runs a hand through his unruly hair. 

The taller boy stalks over to Lucas and when he is inches away, Eliot kneels, resting most of his weight on his heels, and his long arms rest on either side of Lucas boxing him in effectively. 

Lucas likes the way Eliott's face catches the light, how his eyes shine even brighter in the setting sun that is distorted through plexiglass. He notices the natural highlights in his hair. Sees the slight stubble already growing on Eliott's chin and thinks what it would feel like brushing against the bare skin of his face, his chest. Between his thighs. 

Lucas draws in a deep breathe and sees how those eyes staring up at him dilate. 

"I'm asking." His voice comes out slow, cracked like he was restraining himself against a force neither one of them could see.

"Yea?" Lucas keeps his question light. Lifts his own hand and let's his fingers walk across the skin of the others exposed wrist . He feels him tremble beneath the spider touches. "And who are you?"

He knows his name. Heard Professor Dole say it a couple of times, but Lucas wants to hear it from him. Wants to hear that strained whisper. 

"Eliott. I'm Eliott." When he speaks Lucas can see the movement of his throat bob as he swallows thickly around the words. "I want to draw you again."

Lucas tilts his head keeping his eyes glued on Eliott. He bets Eliott would like to hear his own name spilling for Lucas' lips. But Lucas doesn't quite give him the satisfaction just yet. His fingers continue their dance up the length of Eliott's jacket clad arm until he bunches the material in his fingers and tugs gently. 

Eliott rises willingly until their faces rest only inches apart. Lucas likes the way Eliott's tongue darts out to wet his lips. Something in him tells him, whispers to him to be cruel. Tells him to wait for the other to make the next move. 

So he does. He smiles shyly and pauses his actions. Wants to see if Eliott would try to close the distance between the two of them. Wants to see how long it takes the other to break. 

It doesn't take long. Eliott makes the smallest move forward and nearly closes the gap when Lucas releases his jacket and pushes lightly at his shoulders causing the taller boy to stumble back slightly on his heels. 

Lucas stands and grins down at Eliott. 

"Well,_ Eliott._" The name feels velvety smooth on his tongue. He likes it. "You'll just have to wait and see if I'll be back." 

He turns and walks to pick up his clothing heading out of the room without looking back at the other.

He ignores the confident shout that follows him out the door. A statement that is lifted with a positive laughter, _"I'll see you next week."_

When he is in the comfort of the adjacent room and the doors locked he sheds the robe. Lucas pulls on his jeans that hug his legs and throws his shirt over his head feeling the static caress each strand of his hair, making it stand and crackle. 

He looks at himself in the standing mirror hung up behind the door and smiles feeling a giddiness bubble up inside of him. 

He couldn't wait for next week's session

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pushing myself to write outside the box so bare with me. Leave me some love or don't. It's all good.


	3. Just To Put Me Back Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A broken cage that couldn't contain his beauty. And Eliott is drawn to it. He takes a step forward, another. 
> 
> Slots one leg between Lucas' and finds that there is a perfection in the way they fit. He leans forward hands resting on a black table top, fingers splayed out in support and he is close. Stands so close he could count the numbers of lashes that frame that soothing heartbreak blue of Lucas' eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so late. BUT IF IT MAKES YOU FEEL BETTER I've planned out the next two chapters. I HOPE THE LENGTH makes up for the fact that I am shit at updating  
Chapter 4: We learn a little more about Lucas and get a little into his mind and we see him with Eliott more...Intimately  
Chapter 5: Resolution to the slight drama in chapter 4 😘

Eliott doesn’t have to wait for next week to see that boy again. That boy with a name he had to pick out from a pile of papers from Professor Doles desk. 

Lucas Lallemant. 

Even his name was aesthetically pleasing, falling from his tongue and flicking the inside of his mouth like a warm touch when he mouths it in the empty studio. Surrounded by nothing but supplies and his own company. But it feels like he isn’t alone. 

Eliott sees him by chance. It’s a Friday and Eliott just happened to be passing by, leaving class and walking the corridor that connects the arts building with the science building. Distracted by the lecture that had just ended and his current assignment he almost doesn't stop in time before he collides with an equally unsuspecting body. It must be the way he startles but Lucas turns away from his conversation with his friend and the way those blue eyes widen slightly, Eliott knows that Lucas was not expecting to see him standing there. 

He stands there awkwardly not really knowing what to say but dying to say something that would keep Lucas with him a little longer. He thinks something must show on his face. The eagerness? The want? His desire? But Lucas turns to his friend and smirks reassuringly. 

“You go on ahead without me, I’ll catch up.” 

Eliott takes in the exchange; Lucas pushing gently at the shoulders of his friend who, to his credit, simply frowns and raises his brows as his chocolate eyes slide back and forth between Eliott and Lucas. 

“We’re having a conversation about this later.” he said. Weary eyes regarding Eliott before nodding once and bounding down the halls without a glance back. Lucas gestures with his chin and Eliott follows him into a room filled with black table tops, desks that seat four and a chalk board that is filled to the brim with notes and diagrams that make his head spin. But he can put two and two together. 

"So you're on the med track?" 

Eliott watches as Lucas' brows lift up to his hairline, blue eyes glowing as he looks down at the white lab coat he wears and towards the skeletal dummy that stands erect in the corner of the room, then back at Eliott.

“What gave it away?" 

Eliott snorts and rubs his neck, tilts his head so his eyes can stare at the ceiling; a move that he hopes screams, _I'm aware I suck at small talk. _

"Okay, point taken." He moves so he stands What’s your focus?” 

“I’m not sure you really want to know.” Lucas runs a finger in a circle on the desk that he is currently seated on. He’s smiling but he's looking at the desk, eyes diverted. 

“Why don’t you try me?” Eliott challenges. He shifts just the slightest from his position leaning against a desk, his portfolio bag long discarded on the floor. He spins his phone between calloused fingertips as his gaze remains locked on Lucas and he watches the brunette slides over, moves a little closer so that their stretched out legs rest inches apart.

"Neuroscience. With a minor in Psych." 

Eliott lets out a low whistle, impressed. 

"Shit, that's tough. Do you like it?" 

Lucas shakes his head and rolls his eyes exasperated.

"God no. I hate it. We're focused on anatomy and physiology right now, and that's not even the fun part." 

"Fuck, you've got your plate full." 

"Mmhm, and what about you? Mr. Art major?" The question throws him a little off track because Eliott was never expecting the interest between the two of them to go beyond the pad of paper and pencil. 

That the fine line drawn was where their interests in each other would end. But Eliott likes talking to Lucas, finds that he is a more beautiful sight the more he learns about him and hears him talk. 

"Double major, actually. Film studies with a focus on animation, and of course you know, Art." He shares. 

"No shit? That's pretty cool. Have you done any animations?" And the undeniable interest, with nothing attached to it, Eliott finds he wants that more than anything.

"I have, I can show you sometime. When you're available, what with your busy schedule."

At that Lucas laughs.

And when Lucas laughs, his smile is wide and his head leans forward, chin tilts done just a little. The move causes his hair to flop to the pull of gravity and Eliott finds the sight to be breathtaking. A sound of pure joy that echoes and carves the image into his memories. 

He has an itch to rummage through his bag, to grab his pencil and etch what his eyes take in. To draw this candid beauty in an instance where only Eliott is there to bare witness. 

Lucas looks up and his hands move to clutch loosely at his cheeks, white lab coat falling in folded fabrics at the move. Some of his fingers converge, over his lips across the bridge of his nose—tips touching, just under blue eyes that stare at him like he knew what Eliott saw in all this. 

A broken cage that couldn't contain his beauty. And Eliott is drawn to it. He takes a step forward, another. 

Slots one leg between Lucas' and finds that there is a perfection in the way they fit. He leans forward hands resting on a black table top, fingers splayed out in support and he is close. Stands so close he could count the numbers of lashes that frame that soothing heartbreak blue of Lucas' eyes. 

He stands a little more than a head taller against the slouched frame but likes how Lucas looks up at him through those pretty lashes; how Eliott can see a smirk peeking through the gaps of nimble fingers and if he were to duck his head just the slightest, use his hands to pry away those unresisting ones he could taste those plump lips that mock him. Rosy lips that test his patience. 

When Lucas lowers his hands to grip gently at Eliott's biceps, Eliott has never wished more to be rid of his clothing to feel the burn of Lucas' touch on his skin. Marking him up in the best ways. 

Creating connections that go beyond his pen and paper. 

His world narrows down to the placement of those hands and how they grip, tightening slightly when Lucas leans up until he's close enough so Eliott can feel his breath fanning across his lips. His eyelids flutter at the sensation, at how close they stand. He can't help but feel like things are falling perfectly into place when the disruption of a vibrating phone dispelled the moment. 

He sees those lips twist in a cruel smirk, blue eyes shining and instead of pulling him in Lucas pushes him away gently. And Eliott doesn't fight it. The space between them remains electrified. 

Lucas checks his phone and Eliott internally curses whoever remains on the other side of the screen for their impeccable timing. 

"Looks like I'm late for dinner." When he looked back up, Lucas has his lower lips drawn into his mouth. Teeth biting down and coloring it a pretty shade. 

Eliott wants to be the one to bite down, he feels the echo of that want deep in his bones. 

"I'll owe you one then. Next time." He says, steps back so Lucas can wall away at any time, unhindered.

It seems as if he rolls Eliott's offer around his head, eyes flickering and smile breaking out. When he nods and steps away from that desk, stretching his limbs languidly— Eliott is struck by the thought that Lucas knows exactly what he was doing.

And Eliott doesn't mind playing right into the palms of his hands. He goes willingly. 

"I'll hold you to that, _Eliott._" 

Just like that, with those parting words. Eliott finds himself alone in the room with the company of empty desks and a dummy skeleton that mocks him. His hands move to rest on his neck as he looks up at the ceiling, mind already working to count down the seconds to when next time will be. 

And next time isn't far away. But next time doesn't happen the way he wants it to; doesn't quite happen the way he imagines it would. 

Because next time was Lucas sitting on a tall stool— legs parted and head tilted back, blue eyes staring down the length of his nose at Eliott. His neck stretched towards impossible lengths. One arm gripping the back of the stool, the other the front and strategically placed between milky thighs. He had one knee bent foot resting on the highest rung of the stool while his other foot remained pointed, toes touching the floor of the raised platform. 

Eliott travels the course of his body with his eyes, greedy to take it all in… smooth expanse of a chest in full view. takes in the dip in his collarbone, the twist of his shoulders, the pull of wiry muscles, and long and curved fingers. The bend of his knees and the point of his toes in perfect fashion. Eliott bites back the desire to kiss the lingering smirk that sat in mock innocence on his face. But Lucas knows exactly what he is doing. Because Eliott is pulled into his orbit the moment he lays eyes on him—can't pick up his pencil fast enough in the race against the clock as he puts pencil to paper and captures those soft lines.

Those shadows that cut across skin in perfect arches and angles. 

Lucas doesn't give him ten extra minutes but instead a parting smile as he cleans up with the other models at the close of class. Before Eliott could even zip his bag and pack up his things, delicately closing his sketch pad so as not to place wrinkles on his new rendition of Lucas in graphite— Lucas is gone, leaving only a whisper of himself. An imprint on paper. 

All Eliott can do is smile wryly, scruff the floor with his sneakers and question when they'll finish up this game of touch and go. Because he can admit that he wants him. More than just for his beauty but perhaps for the playfulness that Eliott reads in his eyes. For his confidence in the way that he sits or stands. Eliott wants to discover all the secret tones that his voice holds. He wants him.

Wants him even more the week after when Professor Doles gives free reign to the models, asking for them to switch up the pose and place in the room every fifteen minutes. 

"To capture the curves and shadows that play on the body. We want to play a game with light perception and win." She'd talk in that calming voice but nothing about how Eliott was feeling could be defined as calm. 

Not in the sweat of his palms and the jumping of his pulse as he looked at Lucas in the light streaming in from the large windows, standing so Eliott could see his profile. The distinguished curve of his nose and the ever lift of his cheeks from his soft smile. Closed eyes and shadows of lashes. His arms are lifted high above his head, one arm angled and elbow jutted so Lucas could comfortably grab at his forearm: his fingers set in a delicate curl like he's trying to grasp at air and hold on. Eliott draws the arch of his back and the curve of his ass—breath catching when he sees the silver skin of stretch marks on his upper thighs soaking up sunbeams.He thinks perhaps there is some perfection built in Lucas. And he's only discovered the surface layer. He wants badly to take him out to dinner. See him dressed up sitting across from him, happiness lit up on his face. He wants to witness that coy hooded gaze directed at him, for him. And after they've had their fill Eliott wants to take him home and shed his clothes.

Peel them back layer by layer until he's rendered bare by Eliott's own hands. And that desire sits pretty inside him for the rest of the week. 

So Eliott finds Lucas much like he did that one time by accident. 

This time he makes it his purpose.

He stands by the door waiting for the room to empty out listening for that soft tenor amongst the onslaught of noise. 

Eliott sees Lucas first and for a second he thinks maybe he might just waste this chance with his voice stuck in his throat because he feels utterly overwhelmed and Lucas hasn't even turned to look at him yet. And by stroke of luck it is that same boy that Lucas was with the last time, who looks back. 

His arms tug at Lucas until he stops and Lucas turns, quietly, and follows his line of sight until Eliott is lucky enough to be the center of his attention. 

And it's as if their roles are switched for once as Lucas looks him up and down, blue eyes flickering over his white tee and blue denim jeans, down his legs where they cuff at the ankles—takes in his loosely laced boots and then travels back up the length of his body like Eliott was a well of water and Lucas was thirsty. 

"Is that the—," Lucas is quick to wave off his friend, who throws him an exasperated look but Lucas was preoccupied.

"You go on ahead Yann, I'll meet you in a bit. 

"Dude, that's what you said the last time." 

Something in his tone and his suspicious look he gives Eliott causes Lucas to turn towards him a wide grin on his face.

"I mean it this time, I'll be right there." Yann doesn't leave quietly as he punches Lucas lightly on the arm, throws Eliott one more glance over and say,

"Better, or you're paying this time and next—and I'm not ordering you shit." 

When Yann is finally gone, made his way down the hall with the rest of the foot traffic, Lucas turns his full attention on Eliott and Eliott seems to forget he had something he wanted to ask. 

Words dying in his mouth as he takes in the way Lucas stands with one arm bent behind his back to grasp at the other loosely, looking pretty in a plain grey tee and black sweats that hung low on his hips and hugged his ankles. He's dressed like any other person, nothing special, but there is a different effect on Eliott. 

And maybe Lucas knows this. Likes it even, from the way his cheeks glow at the attention and he cocks his hips just that much more whenever Eliott is around. 

"Is there something I can help you with?" The question is innocent. Innocent in a way that Eliott is aware, Lucas is not and Eliott wants very badly to play into his trap.

It wouldn't be so wise for him to say yes—that there were many things Lucas could help Eliott with—and show his feelings so openly but he lets silence stretch between them long enough for Lucas to look off to the side a little unsure. 

"Look, I should really go, Yann's waiting for me." 

He turns, slightly, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum and waking Eliott from his daze. 

It's all Eliott can do, really, reacting before his thoughts catch up to him. Before Lucas could really walk away leaving Eliott feeling like he wasted the perfect chance. His hands reach out and fingers grasp at a thin wrist, delicate and light. He soaks up the warmth of skin on his fingertips, weighted in the palm of his hands. 

Those blue eyes look down at where they connect, widened in surprise and it must be the drop of his lips, the barest hint of a gasp that causes Eliott to realize what he's done. His fingers tighten just the slightest because holding onto Lucas felt right.

"Let me take you out to dinner." 

Lucas tilts his head, smiling as he steps closer into Eliott's space.

"I really can't today. I'm supposed to grab some things to go and head off for my study group." 

Eliott feels the immediate drop in his stomach at the rejection but Lucas steps impossibly close, stands on his tip toes so that their noses brush and Eliott closes his eyes to the soft touch. 

"I'm free after my exams—you can take me to breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Maybe even out for some dessert." 

Eliott chuckles at the blatant confidence that Lucas exudes. He loves it. Hasn't faced anything like it in a long time. He finds it refreshing. 

"And when are your exams over."

Lucas shrugs, "A couple more weeks. Think you can handle waiting?" He asks, voice light and teasing. 

"Mm, we'll see how long I last." Eliott doesn't think he'll last very long and he might just make it a habit to hang outside this classroom just to steal a couple minutes of his time.

"Deal." And like that Lucas extracts his wrist and takes his comfort away. Eliott hates the way his palms feel empty, light. 

Wrong in a sense. 

"Lucas," he calls out and the brunette turns in place, waiting.

"Will you be there next week?" 

Lucas smirks blue eyes looking down at himself, as if contemplating his own response to such a question. His hand moves to toy with the hem of his shirt before those eyes travel back up to look at Eliott. A stare that is striking. 

"Have I missed one yet?" 

Eliott smiles because Lucas could never just give him a straight answer, preferring to play his games. He doesn't stop him again when he turns to disappear down the hall in the direction of his friend. Eliott resolves to play that waiting game.

*

Lucas is in the process of stretching out and finding a pose to take up. He's already stripped down feeling the nip of the cool air in the room. Professor Doles opened the top windows and a couple of the bottom ones to let air circulate and the breeze that sweeps in from the outside ruffles at Lucas' hair. 

"What do we do when the lines we chase move as it does naturally. Of course we follow. Pencils ready. You'll only have your models for 25 minutes today." 

Today Lucas takes up an easy pose. On his stomach head pillowed in the crook of his arms folded under like a makeshift pillow. He is in Eliott's direct line of sight, like he is meant to be, and he's just about to let his mind settle when the door to the studio creaks and a soft voice calls out. 

"Sorry I'm late, professor."

And normally Lucas wouldn't give it much thought. He's good at tuning things out; forgetting his surrounding and simply embracing his stillness. 

"Ah, Lucille, no worries. Find a spot—won't you stay after session, so that I may speak with you?" 

"Of course, professor." 

But there is a shift to his left and he feels like the air shifts from this new girl Lucille. 

What gets him though, makes him break his concentration is the way he sees Eliott stop what he is doing to stare. Arm raised and pencil suspended, floating and making Lucas feel as if he is wasting his time. The distaste sits heavy in his mouth. Because Eliott still looks at him, still runs the length of his body with his eyes but there are moments where his gaze falters, flickers to the left a little and Lucas might be imagining things but he reads something more than a little curiosity in those blue-grey eyes. 

Lucas wonders what it is that sits below the surface. For the first time since he started this gig, he thinks of all the images that these artists have created of his body, how they've turned him into their own little piece of Eroticism and masterpieces—Lucas wants to see how he is positioned on their sketch pads. He wants to know how Eliott has rendered him today. Lucas would trace the lines with his fingers. Smudge graphite on paper and crumple it in his fist because the image has been tainted.

He'd demand Eliott to draw him all over again in a room of their own. Perhaps with just the two of them, if only to feel the satisfaction of having Eliott look at him and only him. Or, perhaps, Eliott has chosen to draw someone else today. Lucas doesn't like how that thought lingers, long enough for it to be his focus. Long enough for him to miss the way Professor Doles tells them they can stand and stretch and he simply lays there a touch longer. 

Lucille is quick to get up and grab her robe and he catches sight of her for the first time as he sits up slowly, her frame towering over him as she stands tying a knot to keep the fabric in place before she makes her way, barefoot, over to where Eliott still sits. 

Lucas watches only for a second but turns to grab his own robe, pulls it tight around his shoulders just as another breeze filters in through the window. His hand moves to calm his fluttering hair—wishes there was a way to calm the fluttering in his chest. Lucas moves to the changing room but catches the tail end of their conversation.

"Priceless," he hears the dark humor in her voice. "Found yourself someone new to lead on? We'll see how long this one lasts.” 

Lucas doesn't know what to focus on more. The fact that he hates how she talks to him, condescending and like Eliott was a child. Or the fact that there was a 95% chance that Eliott drew Lucas and it caused that reaction from her. Because despite her assured sense of self, Lucas knows jealousy when he sees it. And when she enters the changing room after him the lines of her body are wrought with it. 

Lucas looks from the angry lines written on her face and thinks that she still looks beautiful, a goddess on a warpath with eyebrows in a deep dive and petaled lips drawn down. Maybe it's something in her stance. Like she's on the defense, but Lucas finds himself asking,

"So you know Eliott?" So casually. 

Her green eyes give him a once over like she recognizes him. Can see what he looks like without his clothing on. An image immortalized on paper many times over. 

"Listen, Eliott and I have had an on again off again relationship for the last 3 years. If you're here to tell me to fuck off, don't bother." 

She quickly puts on a shirt, forgoing a bra as she rolls down the white cotton tee. She spares him a glance as she throws on a pretty grey-leather jacket; fingers pulling at the hem of it to straighten the material before moving to fluff the ends of her brunette locks. 

"He always comes back. It's like clock work. I'm sorry to say that." 

But she doesn't sound apologetic. Lucas stands there half sitting, half leaning on a desk, his ankles still crossed and arms, bare and folded protectively over his chest. She bends to pick up her purse, hangs it on shoulder and moves to head out of the room but she pauses at the door, head tilted in a way that makes her hair spill over the lower half of her cheeks. Lucas looks up at her as she regards him and waits. 

"Why do you do it?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. 

"Do what?" 

"Model. Naked for all those people to see? What do you gain from this?"

He doesn't have to think about it really. Because he's spent a lot of time thinking about before, when he was first presented with the opportunity. 

"I like it." His body makes him happy. "And if someone is to find inspiration from me then even better. It's nice to be needed and seen like that. " 

He shrugs because there really isn't anything too deep about liking the fact that people like his body. But from the way Lucille scoffs he's not sure he gives her a satisfactory response. 

"You like being needed, is that it?" 

Lucas shrugs, because he thinks she's being a bit reductive but she's not wrong. 

"Something like that, it is a nice feeling." He tells her. "To be needed." To be wanted and looked after. To feel eyes on him, knowing that they see what he has to offer physically. Making them want to know what's underneath his skin. 

"Right." The way she nods and looks away has him curious. Her arms fold and she stares at the wall, a firm set to her jaw.

"A room full of artists all looking for and needing that one thing” She spits the words. Bitter and sure of herself as she glares back in his direction. “Tell me Lucas, what happens when they stop needing you—but you still need them. What do you do then?" She pauses like the words hurt to say. Like she's said them a million times over just to convince herself that is why she can't walk away. 

"Eliott he… Eliott is special. Has something that just pulls you in and you can't just walk away. And it's going to hurt." He rolls her words around in his thoughts, tastes them on his tongue to find his own answers. "Because it's going to happen and he will leave you behind when he's done; when he's ready and in need of something new. You might feel important now but to him this is just a whim." 

Lucas bites his lips in thought. He can tell she's been hurt, perhaps trusted the light one to many times and she can't shake the burn. Her words come as a warning but it rings with a sadness. But Lucas wasn't here for advice, wasn't here to be scared off. Lucas has done his second guessing twice over, missed out on too much and experienced too little to be told "give up now" by a scorned lover. He'll take the good with the bad and learn for himself. 

"I don't know what I'll do when it comes time for that but should I do what you've done?" 

She raises a brow and Lucas stands and stretches in place. Arms, long and nimble lifted high above his head. The ache and pop of his joints burn in the best way and he shakes at the feeling. When he comes down, relaxes and regards her again, he knows he isn't being fair because he doesn't have all the facts. 

"Try to relive the past and recapture something that isn't there anymore?" 

Lucas sees the way she smirks at him, tongue licking the front of her teeth beneath her closed lips, fingers twitching and Lucas plays with the idea that she wants to slap him. 

"I hope—I hope you eat those words. I hope one day he teaches your heart how to break." her voice comes out steady, words measured. 

She doesn't turn this time when she opens the door and Lucas doesn't try to stop her. 

He's left thinking about what he could do. And what he does do,is dress and leaves the room and waits. He doesn't ponder over the decision for long because Lucas doesn't like to lie in wait for life to happen to him. He's done enough of that to be sick of it. 

So Lucas finds himself texting Yann and canceling their study date. Stands in the hallway outside the studio because he knows Professor Doles is still giving lectures and helpful advice. But Lucas cherishes his patience. When the door opens 15 minutes later, students filing out, some nodding their heads at him in passing, Lucas takes the first chance he gets as soon as he sees Eliott with his bag hanging on by a strap about to walk past him. 

His hand shoots out and he tugs hard and almost laughs at the surprise he sees on that beautiful face. 

A face that he has found hard to resist ever since they started their dance, started tiptoeing around each other for the last five weeks. When Eliott finds his bearings, Lucas strips him of it again by reaching up and clenching his fingers into his shirt collar and dragging him down into a kiss. 

He finds it easy to close his eyes, smiling against soft lips before molding them together. It takes Eliott a moment to realize what's happening before he responds with an eagerness that pulls a gasp from Lucas. 

Then another, as Lucas opens himself to Eliott— lets him explore, and that searing heat of Eliott against him, on him, has him questioning why it took him so long to finally let this happen.

When he pulls away, he snorts a laugh as Eliott chases after him for more but Lucas holds him back. Leans away, happy that his tension from earlier is gone and that Eliott is still looking at him like he is the only person he wants to see. 

"Change of plans, take me to dinner."

"Now?"

Lucas leans in and licks his lips and taps a small kiss against Eliott's slightly parted lips. 

"Right now."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE leave your comments. I will love you forever. And they really motivate me. Can't tell you how often I went back and reread some of the comments here just to make myself feel better. ALSO I wrote this entirely to admire Lucas' beauty so please don't @ me. 😘  
Just love him like I love him.

**Author's Note:**

> Um. Will be slow to update? Leave me some love? Please?


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